Hogwarts On It's Head
by Late March
Summary: A titilating set of poems have knocked Hogwarts on it's collective rump. They're everywhere. But who wrote them?
1. The Poem

**Hogwarts on it's Head  
Summary: **A series of poems suddenly knock the Hogwarts student body on it's rump. They're everywhere! And no one knows who wrote them…

_So this is the product of the culmination of myself and _**bugaboo1** _and the first chapter is finally ready. This will be different from anything else that I've posted here, and so I hope that you all enjoy it!_

_Hard Day's Knight_

_PS – Yes, I changed my name. Again…_

**Act One, Scene One  
**The very first day of the whole fiasco dawned cold and grey. Which was not an unusual occurrence in Britain, especially in the winter. (It was practically continual then.) The day was Friday, which meant that each teacher (Well, most of them…) had a special twinkle in their eyes and that each student's smile (If there was one…) was especially bright. Friday meant the weekend. And the weekend meant two days of (hopefully minimal) homework due on Monday, lounging in over stuffed leather chairs, and lots of hot chocolate to be drunk.

The almost normalness of the day would have been almost suffocating. It would have been, if not for…

_He lives in the dungeon, the greasy haired git  
_"_My students are awful." He says in a snit  
_"_They blow up the cauldron, they drive me insane  
__They have a big mouth and a very small brain."_

_There's the Longbottom boy, the blundering fool  
__Who would be enough to make me quit this school. _

_I'm not purposely mean, but the boy is a twit.  
__Completely and utterly lacking in wit._

_He mangles the simplest potion you see  
__He can't tell a shrivelfig from a winged pea  
__Whatever you teach him, it doesn't get through  
__If you had to teach him, you'd loathe the boy too._

_Talking of hate – there's the Potter boy, Harry:  
__Obstinate, full of himself, and contrary  
_"_Harry, our hero." They whimper and boast.  
__The kid's as appealing as toe jam on toast. _

_Dumbledore thinks that I don't understand him  
__That isn't the problem. I'd just like to send him  
__Per Portkey to the Canadian Prairie  
__You'd want to too if you had to teach Harry._

_Part of the group is Hermione Granger  
__The one who keeps Longbottom's nose out of danger  
__She has the brains that her male friends are lacking  
__If I could keep her, I'd send all the rest packing._

_It's not that she's pretty, or witty, or tall  
__She's a show-off and insuff'rable know-it-all  
__But in case of a marriage law or forced adoption  
__She is by far the most preferable option._

_As far as the Weasley boy, he is a zero  
__Sidekick to Potter's deplorable hero  
__Red hair and Quidditch, intelligence: small  
__If you've seen one Weasley, you've seen them all._

_You can take every gangly, hormonal teenager  
__-exempting the brilliant Hermione Granger-  
__And send them to Cleveland or Northern Peru  
__If you were their teacher, you'd send them there too._

The poem had been printed in a handwriting full of embellishments, but with a surprisingly cynical taste to it. Every "Hermione Granger" had been underlined with a scathing flourish. It had been printed, (surely by magic) on each and every page in an emerald green ink, which was not only expensive, but reminiscent of all of Dumbledore's little notes.

Each door had one. Each window had one. Each bathroom mirror and bed hanging was adorned with one. They were everywhere someone was bound to find them. The whole castle seemed like it was papered with them. It looked like the work of a madman.

**Act One, Scene Two  
**"Professor Snape!" bellowed Professor McGonagall as she barged into Snape's personal apartments. She stopped short at the sight of Professor Snape sitting calmly at his research table, about to pour a cup of tea. She stumbled forward when Flitwick ran straight into her legs.

"Yes McGonagall?" Snape asked, his face twisting a bit unpleasantly. He set the pot down on a stack of papers.

The headmistress' face grew cloudy. "How could you write such a thing?" she asked tightly, clutching one of the inked green papers in her fist.

"Write what Minerva?" Severus asked, not at all pleased to be accused right off the bat for Merlin knows what. "I have not written anything to the Ministry for two weeks."

"The poem!" Flitwick squawked, jumping a bit when Trelawny burst into the room, the Professors Vector, Sprout, and Hooch hot on her heels.

Minerva studied his perplexed expression for a moment, then folded her arms over her chest. "You're sure that you know nothing about it? Your rooms look suspiciously empty of the poems." One eyebrow rose on all the other professors' faces when they noticed this fact.

Severus scowled and picked up the teapot again. "Ladies, and gentleman," he said with a nod to Flitwick, for he was passably polite to his colleagues, if nothing else. "I know nothing about whatever it is that you are all going on like baboons about. If you all will please leave, I'd like to have at least one peaceful cup of tea today."

He tipped the teapot, obviously intending to pour, but nothing came out. He tried again, but with the same results. _'There doesn't seem to be anything wrong with it.'_ He thought, shaking the thing urgently. It was the proper weight, and steam was curling out of the spout. Cautiously, Snape opened the lid and stuck two fingers in.

But as soon as he did, it seemed that a whole gallon of steam and gas came pouring out. Coughing became the common dialogue (along with the occasional curse) as the stuff began to fill the room. Fortunately, someone (It had to be Sprout since she was very into minimizing air pollution.) drew their wand and banished the smoke away easily. Severus was then left holding a rolled up sheaf of parchment. Green ink was just barely visible on the inside of it.

"What is this?" he demanded, brandishing the parchment like a sword.

Minerva answered before Trelawny could get any words out of her already opened mouth. "It is the poem that we were questioning you about when that abhorred steam entered the room." She paused and then raised an imperious hand. "Go on. Read it."

Severus scowled at her for ordering him about, but did as he was told, viciously opening the parchment. He began to read, lips moving silently and sensibly over each word. As he read, his face grew darker and darker, till it was perfectly clear that a tempest was approaching. "Bloody hell! What is the meaning of this bollocks?" Snape roared, his normally pale face skin turning pink.

"It's all over the castle." Said Hooch, "Even the pitch!"

"Every window." Offered Professor Flitwick.

"Every door." Volunteered Professor Vector.

"Every mirror has one." Professor Trelawny entered whimsically, finally able to get a word in.

"My greenhouse has been gifted wrapped in parchment!" squealed Sprout.

"Enough!" cried Professor McGonagall, holding out a hand to stop everyone. "If you did NOT write it, then it must have been a student, but who?"

Sybil stepped forward. "It shall be a one time event," she whispered dramatically. "My inner eye tells me so. There is no need for us to expend such energy." She adjusted her plate sized glasses, and stepped back.

This time it was Professor Vector who stepped forward, her nimble fingers rapidly adjusting her tiny glasses. She held up a long paper filled with numbers. "My calculations say the same thing. These…words," she pronounced the word in a rather disgusted manner "will not hold such an appeal a second time through. This…author, I believe, is obviously smart enough to realize that." Flitwick, Sprout, and Hooch were all nodding in agreement, now that they finally had a reasonable theory to back.

**Act One, Scene Three  
**"Did you write this?" Parvati asked Hermione rudely, shoving the paper under the victim's nose, though her "victim" had one in her hands already. Lavender stood by expectantly.

Hermione pushed Parvati's hand away and stuffed her own copy into a pocket before folding her arms across her chest in the exact way Professor McGonagall had only half an hour or so ago. "No Parvati, I did not write that distasteful poem. Seventeen people have already asked me the same thing. How many students do I have to tell before the whole school knows it?" she asked crossly.

Lavender looked put out at her answer and advanced. "Are you sure it's not yours?"

Hermione looked annoyed. "Yes Lavender. I'm sure that I did not write it. Wouldn't you know if you had written something? Now if you'll excuse me, I'd like to go eat."

**Act One, Scene Four  
**"Drakie, did you see that simply delightful poem that everyone's talking about?" Pansy tried to purr later that day, batting false eyelashes and wriggling her pug nose.

Draco Malfoy pushed Pansy Parkinson off his lap in a disgusted manner. "Bloody hell Pansy! Do you really think I'd write that piece of flobberworm! Who told you such a thing?"

Pansy looked up at him, abashed at being scolded by her supposed boyfriend. "I was just asking Drakie." She whispered heavily.

The blonde Slytherin scowled at her. "Well go bother someone where I can't see you." He shook his head as he watched her saunter away. When she was halfway across the room Blaise appeared before him. The handsome Italian looked as suave and as cool as ever.

"Did you write this?" he asked right away, holding up on the poems.

Draco snorted. "No. Are you the one who's making everyone think it was me?"

Blaise didn't even blink. He just folded the parchment calmly and stuck it into his robe. "I have not said one word about these theories. People aren't as stupid as you paint them to be Draco."

"Bollocks! Why do people think that I am the one writing this? I don't even like poetry!" he narrowed his eye. "Why do you think I did it?"

"It's green ink. Emerald green ink. That's a Slytherin color. It's also very expensive green ink. A galleon for three ounces. And which Slytherin flaunts his wealth to everyone? You." Blaise accused, poking Draco's chest with a stiff finger.

Draco poked him back. "How come people don't think that you wrote them? You're the one who likes poetry. And it's not like you're a beggar." Draco launched another poke. "How do you know that the ink is three ounces for a galleon?"

Blaise raised up his hands defensively. "I use it for Christmas cards. And they do think that I wrote it. They also think that it could also be Granger, Potter, Weasley, or Professor Snape."

"Hmph. Weasley writing a poem. That'll happen when Merlin comes back from the dead and Hermione Granger is dating Professor Snape." Draco sneered, levitating his book bag so that he wouldn't have to carry it down to the Great Hall.

**Act One, Scene Five  
**Late that night, two pale white hands held a copy of the now infamous poem. The original copy. In the bland light of a single candle, the paper was filled with ink blots, words that had been crossed out and recopied, and flourishes with crooked lines that had been practiced over and over and over again. The candle also illuminated a person, who had hair and eyes just unlike the population of Hogwarts. Bright hair. Bright eyes.

As the person reached across their desk, a bottle of emerald green ink tipped over and spilled. It flowed across the desk, staining both hands and innumerous papers.

They pulled back, startled._ 'Bloody hell! That will stain my new robes!' _The person wiped off as much as possible with a nearby towel, but their hands were still an incriminating green.

Banishing the spilled ink to far away and pulling out a new bottle, they reached for a quill and pulled out a new sheet of parchment. After much thought, words finally began to flow across the page.

_Enough about students, now what about me?  
__There's more to this greasy haired git than you see…_

**To be continued….**

AUTHOR'S NOTE: _As I've said before,_ _I couldn't have done this without _**bugaboo1**_, who graciously gave me permission to use her delightful poems. Thanks!_

_Now, please read and review. You know you want too. You know you want to press the little bluish purplish button. You know you want too. Please?_

_Hard Day's Knight, formerly Late March_


	2. To Have a Love Life, Or Not?

**Disclaimer: **In no way, shape or form do I own any of the characters. Nor do I own the poems. The plot however, is mine. So back off.

**Hogwarts On It's Head  
Summary: **A series of poems suddenly knock the Hogwarts student body on it's collective rump. They're everywhere! And no one knows who wrote them…

_The second chapter is finally out! Yes! How exciting is this? Very. I think it's very exciting. Once again, I'd like to mention that _**buggaboo1 **_has generously lent me her poems. Everyone say thanks to her!_

_I'll say this again at the end of the chapter. But listen closely anyway. Yes, I did CHANGE THE LAST STANZA OF THIS CHAPTER'S POEM. Read the end notes for an explanation!_

_Hard Day's Knight_

**Act Two, Scene One**

Classes that week were chaos. The only thing people seemed to want to do was talk about "The Poem". For the very first time, Professor Snape was laughed at, to his face, in his class.

The boy, a Mr. Delorimier, thought himself very clever. And so did a few other classmates. But those like Hermione, who valued the educational side to any class, disapproved heavily. This was mainly because she too, was getting taunted. Only for her it was cruel, sexual jibes like, "Hey Granger! You spreadin' those thighs for the Master?" Of course, this all came from the Slytherins, and when reported, all offending parties were sent into the Forbidden Forest for the night with Filch. Consequentially, Mr. Delorimier was given a three week detention with the very person he had mocked. Each night he came out of the dungeons with bright orange boils all over his body. These were due to the cauldrons he'd been forced to clean…Certainly not the result of several harmless curses…Oh no…

By Thursday, classes had begun to resemble, well…classes again. The teachers finally had a semblance of order once more. Students were able to concentrate on work again, and Hermione was once again satisfied with the way things were run.

Outside of classes was another matter. No one seemed to get anything done. That Tuesday morning, Colin Creevy announced that he was now taking bets on who had written "The Poem". The candidates were Hermione, Harry, Ron (Though all the Slytherins laughed at this.), Ginny, Professor Snape, Draco Malfoy (All the Gryffindors laughed at this.) Blaise Zabini, and most surprisingly, Professor Vector. The logic behind this was that since she preached about number to everyone, she would be the last one anyone would suspect. He then said that he was doing all this on behalf of Fred and George Weasley of Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. Apparently, they had gotten a copy of the poem from Ron, and thought this whole thing was great fun. Outwardly, Hermione disapproved of everything, but when no one was looking, she secretly put two galleons on Blaise Zabini.

"Thank Merlin this is almost over." Hermione volunteered Thursday night as she closed her textbook with a snap. Harry and Ron looked up from their game of Wizarding Chess.

"Ah, it wasn't so bad."

Hermione glanced over to where Ron was sitting. "You mean it wasn't so bad for you. You're not the one who was featured in it."

"Yes I was!"

"Not like me. You were in one stanza. I was in three. And you didn't get teased." She shook her head. "Professor Snape and me. What nonsense…"

**Act Two, Scene Two**

Friday morning was a different matter. Regrettably (in Hermione and Snape's opinion) it was just like the last Friday except this one happened to fall on Valentine's Day. And there was a different poem, of course.

Everyone else (teachers excluded) was ecstatic.

"_Enough about students, now what about me?  
There's more to this greasy-haired git than you see.  
The heart of a lion, the looks of a bat –  
The first part? Don't tell the Gryffindors that._

"_I'm really not ugly, the good looks are there,  
If you can just disregard nose, teeth, and hair.  
Attractiveness standards, they vary by culture  
There must be some place where they cherish a vulture?_

"_Hooked nose, sallow skin, a billowing cloak,  
Some witch out there must fancy those in a bloke?  
I'm willing to travel, no matter how far  
To find me a woman who is up to par._

"_Because here at Hogwarts, the pickings are slim –  
Look at the professors, the picture is grim!  
Minerva's too old and turns into a cat,  
And I am allergic, so that, folks, is that._

"_Trelawney? Good heavens, the woman's a joke.  
One look at her is enough to provoke  
the most violent dislike – don't know what it is…  
The bangles? The constant attempts to French-kiss_

_every male who shows even the least bit attention?  
She once caught old Lupin, I'd just like to mention.  
It took ten hellish minutes to make his escape.  
His boggart now takes a Trelawney-ish shape._

"_Hooch is too Hooch-y, Sprout's too rotund,  
Vector's so ugly it leaves a man stunned.  
(And I know about ugly; believe me, I do.)  
Pince is as exciting as wallpaper glue._

"_For a starry-eyed twit, Sinistra's not bad  
Even if she is slightly deranged and half mad.  
But the one major drawback (it makes me quite sick)  
Is that she has a Hagrid-sized crush on Flitwick._

_I wish a good girl would petition for me.  
Instead I get stuck with a cup of cold tea.  
My love-life is just a perfect disaster-  
Couldn't Miss Granger grow up a bit faster?_

This second poem was written the very same style of the last one, and underneath it in large, flowing letters was, "Happy Valentine's Day". By the time the first class of the day was over, it had already been dubbed, "Love Life (Or Not)" by half the school. Hermione read it once, sniffed, and shoved it into her robe. Later she let it be known that she was keeping each one strictly for memorabilia purposes. Harry and Ron rolled their eyes, but didn't question her motives.

**Act Two, Scene Three  
**The Trio was on their way to Charms that day after lunch when they spotted Luna. Her cork necklace was bouncing and she was intently reading an upside down copy of the Quibbler. The blinding purple shirt she wore underneath her robes was extremely at odds with her scarlet gloves and canary yellow scarf. She smiled in greeting with she noticed they had joined her. "Hey, great gloves!" Ron said, leaning in for a better look.

Luna held one hand out absently. "Aren't they stellar? My father sent them to me. They are made of an ancient basilisk skin said to make your skin tingle every hour." She shook her head to and fro in a disappointed fashion. "I've been wearing them all week, but no tingle. Daddy says it may take awhile though."

Intrigued, Hermione leaned closer as well. "What does the tingling do?"

"I don't know." Luna said helpfully. The rest of the conversation consisted of some very diverse topics. They included, but were not limited too: Luna's gloves, Quidditch, the poems, Quidditch again, Hermione's rune class (whose teacher was supposedly ineffective.), and the fact that Crookshanks was losing weight for no reason whatsoever. Ron and Harry were incessantly happy about this since it meant the cat could no longer knock them flat each time they ventured near Hermione's room for Homework help.

**Act Two, Scene Four  
**By dinnertime, Hermione was furious. While the magnitude of her annoyance was not as great as last Friday, her anger had sky rocketed. Ron and Harry heard her ranting over it at dinner.

"I cannot believe this!" She began, shaking a chicken leg at her two friends. "I am absolutely incensed at being featured in such a way as a tawdry novelty!"

"Come on 'Mione." Harry began. "It can't be-"

Harry was shot down. "Oh, don't 'Come one 'Mione.' me. I cannot believe that you can think that I would-"

"Miss Granger." Said the shadow behind her.

Slowly, the Trio turned to face the voice's owner, Professor Snape. There was a singularly odd look in his eye tonight, but all the same, he looked angry. "Yes Professor?" Hermione put down her chicken leg. Around them, the other students (Harry and Ron included) were conspicuously engrossed in their own meals.

Snape raised an eye brow at the discarded weapon, but mercifully refrained from comment. "Five points from Gryffindor, Miss Granger, for disturbing dinner. Also, you are to come with me as of now. Professor McGonagall wishes to speak with you."

Hermione rose dutifully, dabbing at her lips with a napkin. They exited the Great Hall a foot apart, both their backs ramrod straight. But as the doors closed behind them, Harry thought that he caught a glimpse of them moving closer together, the backs of their hands touching. Oh well, must have been his imagination.

As soon as they were gone, the whole Gryffindor table swiveled around to look at where the other professors were sitting. In relief, they noticed that Professor McGonagall was indeed missing in action.

**Act Two, Scene Five  
**Professor McGonagall looked down her nose at Hermione, who was sitting politely in front of her, before speaking. "So, Miss Granger, you have been featured in both poems put forth by our mysterious author." The newest installment was then held up.

"Yes Professor."

"Do you realize what they imply at you and," she motioned to him, "Professor Snape?"

Hermione's cheeks tinged a delightful shade of pink. "Yes Professor McGonagall."

"Do you have any ideas on who is writing them?" her answer was a shake of the head. "Professor Snape?"

Snape moved from the massive fireplace to the chair beside Hermione. "I believe that it may have been a Ravenclaw."

"Do you have any reason for that theory?"

He flicked one hand about in a negligent manner. "The Ravenclaws are renowned for their minds, are they not? Certainly no other house shows such an aptitude for academia." It was a thinly veiled insult.

Hermione interrupted. "But would it not take a Gryffindor's courage to post such a thing?" she asked contrivedly.

Snape's eyes narrowed. "Are you saying you know who it is Miss Granger?"

His pupil opened her mouth to speak when McGonagall cut in. There would be no arguing in her office. "You are both right. It could have been a Ravenclaw. It could have been a Gryffindor. A Hufflepuff could have done it because no one suspects them of anything. It might have been a Slytherin too. They have the cunning to pull such an operation under all our noses!"

"You've made your point Minerva." Snape murmured coolly.

"The Professor is right. It could be anyone, and we need to be putting our heads together to figure out who it was instead of arguing." Hermione put in.

"Nicely put Miss Granger." Acknowledged McGonagall.

**Act Two, Scene Six**  
A letter from Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley to the Trio.

**To:** R. Weasley, H. Granger, and H. Potter  
**From:** Fred and George

R, H, and H,

We just wondered if you'd know how many bets Colin has gotten so far. If you and Harry don't know, Hermione surely does. And Ron, thanks for the copy of the latest installment. Love the title. We both think they're as fun as a barrel of monkeys. And the customers think it's hilarious too. Send the next one to us on the double. Hermione, don't you worry about a thing. I'm sure you and old Snape will be very happy together. We're sending you one of our patented Daydreams. It's a _Steamy Edition_ so have fun! Harry, we really haven't got much to tell you mate…Stop by soon and we'll submit you to all our newest tricks.

Fondest Laughs,  
F. and G. Weasley

**Act Two, Scene Seven  
**A letter to the Weasley twins. (Well, technically it's a howler…)

**To:** Fred and George  
**From:** H. Granger

Fred! George!

Take those poems out of your store or I swear to Merlin that I'll rip them down myself and shove them down your throats! And if you put up another two copies and I hear about it, I'll tell Snape. And he won't be pleased at all.

Not-So-Fondest-Laughs,  
Hermione Granger

**Act Two, Scene Eight  
**Six days later, the author sat down to their desk again. It was late at night and the breeze was especially brisk. The desk's only noticeable difference was the jar of emerald green ink. Instead of being in peril of getting knocked over, it was placed on a newly bought stand. A glace of pumpkin juice sat to one side, half empty with a dirtied napkin next to it. It was the perfect night to write, but nothing would come out. Impatiently, they shook their hands and then tried again.

Close but no cigar.

Shaking their head (Maybe that would clear it up. They could feel a head cold coming on.), they picked up a random book. Then a random page. Finally, a random sentence. And this brought inspiration. A shaky inspiration, but inspiration all the same…

"Hmm…" The mumbled, chewing on their quill. Finally, words began to flow.

_Ev'ry year Dumbly goes out on a mission  
To once again fill up the DADA position…_

**To be continued…**

**AUTHOR'S NOTES – **

Yes! _Contrively _is a word. I got from my American Heritage dictionary. It's on the bottom of page 290. An apology is in order. Last week, I did not spell my partner's name right. It is spelled **buggaboo1**. So there it is. If any of you want to read them separately, you can always find her on say this again. In this chapter, I DID CHANGE THE CONTENT OF THE POEM. In the last stanza, the poem said:

_I wish JK would write a girlfriend for me,  
__Instead I get stuck with some loathsome OC.  
_My lovelife is such a perfect disaster-  
Couldn't Miss Granger grow up a bit faster?

Since there is a mention of the heralded J. K. Rowling, it regrettably had to be changed. You'll notice I changed it to this:

_I wish a good girl would petition for me,  
__Instead I get stuck with a cold cup of tea.  
_My lovelife is such a perfect disaster-  
Couldn't Miss Granger grow up a bit faster?

I'm sorry about that, but it had to be done. I hope you all understand. In other news, the REVIEW RESPONSES are next and I hope that you enjoyed this chapter. Review please!

**REVIEW RESPONSES**

**buggaboo1 – **Wow! A review from the creator of the brainchild! How exciting. I'm so glad that you liked the first chapter. I was really worried that you'd think I'm a bad writer. Hope you liked this one!

**BANDGEEK2300 – **Thanks! I was worried that people would think my plot was too out there. Thankfully not. I loved the review! Hope you liked this chapter!

**keepondreaming16 – **Well, here I am, updating. I know, it was crazy! I'm probably the only who's crazy enough to think this stuff up. Is that good, or bad? Anyway, thanks for the review!

**Emerald Soccer Cat591 – **Random is a good thing, right? Okay, it's only good sometimes. But this was a good time for randomness. At least I think so. Thanks for I review. I always love getting them! Hope you liked the chapter!

**duj – **Ah! Another great connoisseur of poems! What an honor! As you can see, no one got caught green handed. However! The identity of the author will be revealed in the last chapter, probably in the last paragraph. Yes, I am doing one for each chapter, and yes, there are four poems, but I might need to ask for some more. Thanks for the review!

Review everyone! Please!


	3. Some Runny Noses And A Few Dead Citrus

**Disclaimer: **In no way, shape, or form do I own the characters. The poems are also not mine, they belong to **buggaboo1**. The plot, however, is mine. So back off.

**Hogwarts On It's Head**

**Summary: **A series of poems suddenly knock the Hogwarts student body on it's collective rump. They're everywhere! But who wrote them?

_Triumph! The third chapter is finally here! I know I took a long time, but you know how it feels when you want to start something, but can't? I know it has a name, procrastination, but I hate that word. I like to think it of creatively filling up time before doing something else. But here it is! I'd like to mention once more that the poems are the property of **buggaboo1**. _

_Enjoy,_

_Hard Day's Knight_

**Act Three, Scene One  
**Hermione was quite sure that a head cold was the worst possible thing a person could ever have. It provided a sore throat, a runny nose, ears that were suddenly hard of hearing, and a head that could not think. Logically, Hermione knew that there were worse things that could happen to a person. She had seen quite a few of them in the War after all. But she also knew that she felt miserable.

It seemed that her only comfort was that most of the school felt exactly as she did.

Only days after "Love Life (Or Not)" had debuted, practically the whole entire house of Hufflepuff had come down with bad colds. In the process of doing all their good deeds, the Hufflepuffs had inevitably spread it to the rest of the school. Most of the teachers included. So one could only blame the epidemic on the Hufflepuffs (who were currently hiding out in their common room, afraid to come out), however innocently they had done it. In the mean time, Madame Pomfrey had everyone eating tons of chocolate.

Due to such general misery and discontent, that week's ditty (everyone was sure the series would continue) was especially coveted. Eyes opened eagerly early Friday morning, desperate for a bit of humor. (Despite how insulting it was to certain people.) It was a school phenomenon. Most people automatically loved it. Some even went so far as to call it a school tradition, in hopes that the author would hear and be encouraged to write more for the rest of the year.

You can imagine the crashing sense of disappointment when the eyes opened and nothing was there.

It was not on the doors, or the bed hangings. Nor was it on the bathroom windows or the dressers. It was not under the bathroom sink or on top of the bookshelves in the library. The greenhouse was devoid of any parchment, the Great Hall wasn't plastered with them. It wasn't in any teapots (Snape was extremely grateful for this.) or on any of the banisters. The portraits were missing their customary Friday poem and the House Elves hadn't a whiff of it.

The students were crushed. Heart broken, they washed their faces dutifully and brushed their teeth. They plodded to their trunks and pulled them open, ready to get dressed. Only, low and behold, the poems were in their trunks!

"_Ev'ry year Dumbly goes out on a mission  
To once again fill up the DADA position.  
His choices have been, shall we say, quite erratic,  
ev'ry appointment has been problematic._

"_The first of the lot was that turbaned chap, Quirrel  
With a stuttering tongue and a face like a squirrel.  
They think I have eyes on the back of my head -  
Well, he really did! And now he is dead._

_"That Gilderoy Lockhart was horrid, I swear  
Even if he had rather nice teeth and nice hair  
(Think I have hair envy? Uh-uh, not me.  
I think the goth look suits me to a T!)_

_"I snickered with glee when he asked me to duel.  
As I said before, I'm not purposely cruel  
But I must confess that it quite made my day  
To send that dork flying a long, long, long way_

_and then watch him land with a sickening thump -  
he spent a few days putting ice on his rump.  
And later, when I most politely did proffer  
To help him again – he turned down the offer!_

_"I later drew horns, pimples, and a goatee  
On the front-cover photo of "Magical Me".  
The vain, pompous popinjay now does reside  
In a ward in St. Mungo's, his synapses fried._

_"Next there was Lupin, a former Marauder  
(more on those later, that topic is broader  
Than fits in with my stated topic du jour)-  
Like each of those four, he was quite immature_

_and never grew up; I kept having to say  
that students do not make good lycanthrope prey.  
But would he listen? No! To my disgust  
Three of my students almost bit the dust._

_"It was at that point I decided to mention  
That he is a werewolf (which got their attention)  
And then he got fired – which pleased me a bunch.  
It just isn't right to eat students for lunch._

_"Next in the line-up: the wiz with the Eye,  
Alastor Moody, a paranoid guy.  
A famous old Auror, a well-known old grouch -  
Except that he turned out to be Barty Crouch._

_"The real Mad-Eye was locked up in a trunk  
I tell you, to find out that fact really stunk.  
(I think at this point I would support a motion  
On the broad-reaching ban of all Polyjuice Potion.)_

_"The next in the bunch was a Ministry pawn:  
Sadistic, pink-cardiganed She-devil spawn.  
She placed me on probation! Probation! For me!  
I wanted to hex her to South Tennessee!_

_"I hated that witch - well, I hate everyone,  
But that nasty old Umbridge I hated a ton!  
I have to confess that it caused me elation  
To see her laid up with a centaur fixation._

_"I don't know why Dumbledore just cannot see  
That the logical choice for the job is, well, me!  
I've asked him for years, but he won't see the light  
I guess for a headmaster he ain't too bright._

_"Gollum? The Tooth Fairy? Maybe Darth Vader?  
A demon-possessed Elvis Impersonator?  
Who will he hire next year? I can't say.  
But I'm sure that his choice will be cause for dismay._

It sat folded and neat on each student's clothing, looking as innocent as a little lamp. Underneath the poem were the words, "Get well soon." In large blocky writing, so unlike everything else on the parchment. The runny nosed students smiled in glee.

**Act Three, Scene Two  
**"Hmmm…" mused Ron to Hermione and Harry on the way to breakfast. "This mysterious author must be smart to notice the rash of colds." He sniffed.

"Ron, almost everyone has a cold."

Ron turned to Harry. "So? No one pays attention to whether or not everyone else is sneezing."

"The sneezing mainly comes during allergy season Ron. Two months away. Besides, there's so much mucus in this school that we could wash out a tissue convention." Hermione stated, blowing her own nose.

Parvati's face scrunched up as she passed. "Ewww Hermione. That's gross."

Harry shrugged. "It's true, even if it is a little, um…gross." Ron nodded in agreement, and was about to question Hermione about her seeming complacency over the latest poem when her head disappeared below the line of his own and Harry's. They both looked down to the floor to see Hermione sprawled on the ground, rubbing her _derrière _with a mountain of papers spread across the floor around her.

"Wiping the floor with your bum mudlbood?" Draco Malfoy sneered from behind Ron and Harry, who had kneeled down to help her.

"Sod off Malfoy!" Ron snarled. Draco advanced, wand at the ready, ready to shove Ron into a bean can if he got the chance. But then one long fingered hand gripped the boy's shoulder, momentarily sending him reeling back.

The Potions Master loomed behind his protégé. "Careful Mr. Malfoy." Came the smooth tones. He turned to the Golden Trio. "Miss Granger. Five points from Gryffindor for," there was a distasteful look around. "littering."

"That's not fair!"

Snape smiled. "Five more points, Mr. Potter. For sass." The pair stalked off toward the dungeons, and Hermione's eyes were flashing, surely from anger.

"Oww." She murmured, collecting a few of her papers and then standing up. "What did I slip on?"

"A _citrus nobilis deliciosa_ I believe." Came a sing song voice.

Hermione looked to the ground as Harry and Ron scratched their heads in confusion. "I slipped on an orange?" she asked the new comer, who was Luna.

"Tangerine. A dead on I think."

" A tangerine? What was that doing here?" Now Hermione was rather confused.

Luna started to walk past them. She still had on her basilisk gloves, and today, her scarf was a bright butternut squash color that clashed horribly with her hair and robes. She sneezed as she glided past Ron, who looked at her warily as she did so. "Not even the faintest. Cheers!"

Harry spotted a couple of snickering Slytherin second years and was about to go after them when his friends stopped him. "It's not worth it Harry."

"Ron's right Harry. Just help me pick up my papers, okay?" They grudgingly started to collect Hermione's papers from the cold stone floor, gathering no help from the other students. Harry sat down after a minute or two of it.

"Merlin 'Mione! How many papers do you have?" A large amount were still scattered about.

"Yeah. And what is _this_?" Ron held up a piece of parchment that looked suspiciously like a place for someone to write a poem, and already had. Colin Creevy stopped turning the corner and held his camera at the ready. Lavender Brown "clumsily" dropped a few of her books, and stared at the Trio, waiting. A group of chattering Ravenclaws stopped chattering and pretended to help Lavender.

Hermione turned bright red, but her voice was calm, steady, virtually unaffected. "It's not what you think Ronald. It's my diary, and very private." She snatched it out of Ron's hands and picked up the rest of her papers, with which Colin hurried to help her with.

**Act Three, Scene Three  
**"Why have we not caught this mischievous author?" Professor McGonagall demanded of Snape, who was sitting in front of her desk, and the portrait of Albus Dumbledore on the wall across from her.

Dumbledore shrugged good naturedly and Snape scowled. "I've no clue; there've been no whisper of the identity in the dungeons." Dumbledore nodded in agreement.

McGonagall was still not a happy camper. In fact, she wouldn't be one until this whole fiasco was solved. "Perhaps it is someone from outside the castle."

"I would care to disagree Minerva." Came the brittle voice of the portrait. It was the first time it had deigned to volunteer any words since it's mounting. "It is impossible."

Snape was in agreement. "I have my eyes on the Golden Trio. I think that they're working as a team."

**Act Three, Scene Four  
**A correspondence from Professor Severus Snape to Miss Hermione Granger.

Miss Granger,

I am requesting your presence in the dungeons tonight at seven o'clock. Mr. Potter and Mr. Weasley are also to come. We will be discussing your Final Project and the assignments Potter and Weasley have failed to turn in. Seven o'clock sharp.

Prof. S. Snape

**Act Three, Scene Five  
**A response to Snape's note.

Professor,

We will be there. What missing assignments? I've made sure t hat they're done all their homework.

H. Granger

**Act Three, Scene Six  
**A letter from Mr. Weasley and Mr. Weasley to another Mr. Weasley.

Ron,

We need you to send a copy of the third poem, as well as the first two. Hermione has ripped our copies to shreds. Like we said, everyone down here thinks they're as fun as two dozen blue pixies, a bottle of glue, and some glitter. And for Merlin's sake Ron, DO NOT TELL HERMIONE!!!

Fondest Laughs,

F. and G. Weasley

**Act Three, Scene Seven  
**The author sat down the next night. The poem had debuted successfully. 'What a surprise.' They thought sarcastically.

They cracked their knuckles tiredly. Being a school-wide adored author was hard work. Keeping their identity secret was even harder. And the special correspondence with Fleur Delacour, who acted as a proof reader, was incredibly time consuming. Fleur was their kind of person though.

The so far unknown person grimaced from a headache and sniffed, trying to procrastinate. What a drag. Why did they keep on writing again?

Oh yeah. Because it's _fun._

Grimly, they picked up their color changing quill and set it to the parchment. Inkless. A quick wave of the wand and it was amply inked. Perhaps they'd call this one, "The Good Old Fool". No, that was too mean. Better write the poem before naming it. Carefully, they began to write.

_They once made me (continually) shudder,  
__What more is there to say? It's the Marauders!  
__Me? I was innocent, tortured without guilt'  
__While they sat laughing over glasses of milk..._

To be continued…

Author's Note – Oh my gosh! I loved all the reviews! (Just like any normal author.) I'm really glad that this has done so well. I was originally afraid that people would think that it's too weird. But I guess that fear was unfounded.

IMPORTANT – **buggaboo1 **has just informed me that she cannot write another poem at this time. At first, I was very disappointed because that meant that the next chapter would be the last and I wanted it to be a five chapter affair. I was going to ask you all for inspiration (or poem's of your own, I'm not picky.) but then I got some ideas and started writing my own. I will still be using **buggaboo1**'s last poem in the fifth chapter, so bestill your hearts. No matter how terrible mine is, you'll have her's to look foward to in the last chapter...

Special shout out too – **EriksDiva**, **padfoot'smoon**, **ariti**, **DreamRiderau**, **duj**, **buggaboo1**, **BANDGEEK2300, Rambie**, **Emerald Soccer Cat 591.**

Thanks, and review!


End file.
